Goodnight, Goodnight
by Fluff.and.Rainbows
Summary: How did they do it? After seeing death day after day, how did they get to sleep at night? One man sits the new addition to the team down to tell him how.


**Warning. **Mentions of violence, sex, and alcohol. However, only in passing.

**Disclaimer. **There are many things I don't own. A top hat and _CSI_ are included, though I do plan on buying me a top hat sooner or later.

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He knew he wanted to be a CSI, more than anything. More than he wanted to work in the lab. He had wanted to be a CSI since he had met Grissom, and the man had slowly taken him under his wing. Then followed the other CSI's; Catherine, Nick, Warrick, Sara. Holly Gribbs was briefly involved, but too briefly for Greg to have known her.

He idolized all of those he worked with. Even when Warrick yelled at him, or Nick snapped. Even when Sara turned him down, and Catherine just laughed at him. He still wanted to be just like them. He wanted to help them do their job, be out in the field with them. You can only do so much in the lab.

But how could they keep _doing_ this? Seeing death, everyday? Mothers killing their own children, husbands abusing wives, innocent people taken down by complete strangers...

How did they get to sleep at night?

Greg was finding it hard to. Even in broad daylight, the afternoon sun leaking in through his blackout curtains, the shadows moved to form deadly images. A man looming over him. The face of a child he hadn't meant to see during a case with Catherine. Flashes of light outside his window, behind his own eyelids. Gun shots? Flash bulbs? Faint screams from down the hall, down stairs, next door.

In the locker room, he tried to gather himself together before heading out, before really starting his night. It was taking longer and longer to do.

"Hey, G, you don't look so good." He nearly jumped a foot in the air when Nick walked up behind him. Whipping, around, he tried to control his breathing long enough to answer, but Nick's slightly concerned look caught him off guard. "You alright, man?

"Uh, yeah, I...Well, no, not really, but..."

"G, spit it out. What's wrong?"

He ran a hand through his hair, the feeling so foreign now that he had to keep it tame. He missed his spikes. "I can't sleep, Nicky. How do you do it?"

Nick paused, then chuckled, before sitting down next to his younger co-worker on the bench. "How do I get to sleep at night, you mean?"

"Yeah..."

"Well, once upon a time, I drank. I went partying with Warrick. I got a girl and spent the night with her."

Greg was sure he looked like a fish out of water at that, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. "You? A party animal?"

Nick chuckled again and shrugged. "Once upon a time, I said. Then, once I calmed down, I went back to sports. Watched a game with Warrick, had a beer. I started making toys, figurines. Things to keep my hands busy. Then, you know, came Crane."

Greg winced at the mention of Nick's former stalker. "Then what?"

"I was afraid to be alone. Warrick and I bunked together for awhile, but then he started dating again. So, I moved back into my apartment. Haven't made a toy since, but made more friends, went out more. Anything to not be _home._ Then..."

"Your, uh, incident?" It was common knowledge Nick didn't like saying _buried alive. _

"Yeah, that. I couldn't sleep for the longest time after that, still have nightmares. But I went home for awhile, back to Texas. Saw my family, realized what I was missing."

"...Which is?"

Nick laughed out loud and gave Greg a noogie. It was unexpected, but appreciated. Something normal. "I was missing my original drive for the job, man. I forgot why I became a CSI."

"Well, why did you?" Greg asked after trying and failing to fix his hair. Nick reached over and did it for him.

"To help people. Plain and simple. That's what keeps me going, G. I want less people to have a gun in their face. And, at night, I imagine all fo the bad guys I've helped lock up, and that makes it easier."

He stopped to think about that, then laughed. "So, it's that easy for you?"

"That easy."

That night, Greg turned his stereo up as loud as it would go and danced around to his oldies records, something he hadn't done since he started his work toward becoming a CSI. He sang along to the lyrics into a hair brush and let loose.

And he slept like a log that night.

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**Author's Notes.**

Well, here's my break into the _CSI_ fandom. I warn you, I am a fan of The Love, or Nick/Greg. This here one-shot/drabble/abomination can be taken as either friendship or something more, I don't really care. I meant friendship, though, haha.

Ugh, getting them in character is going to kill me. Jimminy Christmas.

This was kind of inspired by me trying to get to sleep last night, ha ha. My mom and I went on a horror movie marathon, and I'm never scared _while _we're watching the movies. It's always afterward, when I'm trying to sleep. Fuuu--

lol, my cat's trying to eat me. And the other one's jealous. Better go.

Carry on, friends.


End file.
